57 Heading Home

Mournful tunes playing from the bagpipers, joined by the rhythmic flapping of Kraken banners in the wind, Jon looked at the evening sky. The purples and reds of sunset, kept lighted by the massive red orb disappearing underneath the western horizon. Such beauty, marred by such sorrow. Those he had valued even somewhat in his life - Jeor Mormont, Rhaegar, Ned Stark - none had gotten even a proper funeral. Ygritte… only he had been there to witness her send off into the great eternity. At least now he could see to it that Theon received his due.

Face hardened, fighting back her emotions, Yara gently placed the strip of seaweed onto Theon's pale, lifeless face. While tradition dictated the pallbearers wade into the shallows with the corpse, burial at sea prevented that. Crew gathered on the deck of the Sea Bitch in solemn formation, they would make due. "Lord," Yara began. "Please take your faithful servant, Theon, back beneath the waves."

Her voice faltered, despite her will to stay strong. Jon understood, for she was now the last of House Greyjoy and therefore undisputed ruler of the Iron Islands - as a girl, there could be no signs of weakness. And still… Theon was her brother. Despite not being close, as Sansa was to him, Jon knew Yara still loved her brother. She wouldn't have tried to rescue him if not.

The ceremony continued. "Feed the creatures of your kingdom with his flesh." Pallbearers - the officers of the Sea Bitch and Kraken - inched the casket towards the edge of the ship. "Drag his bones into the depths to rest beside that of his ancestors." A single tear escaped her eye. "To rest beside the other heroes of the Iron Islands."

"What is dead, may never die!" Roared the sailors and marines.

To a mournful blast from the bagpipes, sad yet with a hopeful beauty in stark contrast to the normally scraggly character of the Ironborn, the pallbearers pitched the casket overboard. A young girl - the same one Jon had encountered in the morning before the battle two days ago - stood at center deck beside Yara. Out of her open mouth streamed a song of pure serenity. It was an old tongue, one that Jon was not familiar with. Such did not distract from the wondrous magic of it. Of honoring the dearly departed Theon Greyjoy. A man that had fallen so far… only to climb back up to the halls of honor and duty.

Wordlessly, as the song slowed into eventual silence, Jon stepped forward till he reached the railing of the ship. Bobbing upon the turquoise sea, the seaweed covered corpse slowly sank with the open casket beneath the waves. Soon there was nothing left of the young man he had grown up with but a trail of bubbles. Surreal.

"Though he was no king," Jon heard Yara say beside him - truthfully, he hadn't heard her come up. 'Euron sneaks one past you and now your senses are dulling? Shape up, Jon.' Perhaps he had grown too smug about his skills. "My brother sure left his mark upon the world. As befitting a true Greyjoy."

Jon leaned his hands against the railing, inhaling the fresh sea air. "He saved my life."

A snort came from Yara. "Oh please. My uncle may be… have been a cunning bastard and built like an ox, but he was no sword prodigy. You could've taken him on. Theon just made it… certain."

"Perhaps…" No one would ever know if the blow to the head had weakened his counter enough for Euron to dispatch him. Jon liked to think it didn't, but also to be humble before the face of death.

"I should hope so." The Queen of the Iron Islands cuffed him on the back. "No fighter should ever have 'I would have been fucking decapitated if it weren't for Theon Greyjoy' as an epitaph." Despite - or more likely because of - the rather grim ceremony just concluded, Yara burst into a cackle. Allowing mirth to tumble from her lips to escape the fact her brother had died. If only for a little while.

Chuckling a bit himself, Jon looked back at his own childhood. "He always was the most arrogant of him, Robb, and I. Thought he fought and fucked the best - turns out Arya beat him at archery over half the time."

"Your little sister? The one with the red hair and delectable tits?" Yara found that even more amusing.

Attempting a glare that lasted about a second, Jon let the slight go. "No. Sansa wouldn't be caught dead with a bow and arrow. Arya is younger than her."

"A fucking kid. That's even more hilarious." She laughed till her stomach hurt, willing to stop.

Grinning at the humor of it all, Jon suddenly gre serious. "Lady Greyjoy." At his tone, she matched his look of business. "How soon can you organize all the Ironborn ships in the area?"

She shrugged. "Most of ours are in White Harbor, while Euron's are scattered all over the fucking sea. The rookery on the Sea Bitch isn't large, but we could probably spread the word of his death in the coming weeks. Why?" If Jon wanted to destroy the Lannister or Free Cities' fleets, it would be tough even for Ironborn to attack such fortified harbors.

"I need you to head to Meereen and oversee the transportation of the army there to Volantis. There you are to wait for my orders."

"Landin' on Westeros?" Her grin returned.

Looking at the cliffs of the Essosi mainland, Jon could see a flap of green wings at his silent command. "Aye."

It was familiar, yet also different. In more ways than one, noted Bran Stark. The Three Eyed Raven - Brynden Rivers, as he was called as a human - stood beside him. Whereas before the connection was weak, shrouded in mystery, now he was firmly here. The magic of the Godstree was powerful indeed.

And yet, the area around him was familiar as well. Bran couldn't put his finger on it, however. "Where are we?" he asked.

"You are perfectly capable of answering your own question, young Stark," replied the Three Eyed Raven. He may have been firmly in his visions, but the old man hadn't ceased with the riddles.

Squinting, peering at the rolling hills and shape of the forest, his eyes widened as realization dawned. "Winterfell…" Bran looked at his companion. "We are in Winterfell."

A slight nod. "Correct, yet incorrect." He began to walk forward, Bran following. "This is the ground where what you know as Winterfell Castle will rest, but such is far in the future from this point of view." Instead of the looming walls and rounded battlements that Bran once had called home, there was nothing but a small collection of huts and tents, dwarfed by the green fields and lush forest all around them.

The 'village' was rather spaced out, each hut sporting a small garden and livestock pen. Homespun-dressed smallfolk - any of noble birth could identify a peasant servant, it was a special look that they had - were spilling out of the huts towards the far end, passing by Bran and the Raven as if they weren't there. Which they technically weren't.

A young couple caught his eye, man with curly blonde hair leading a silver-blonde woman in the same direction as the rest of the crowd. In the woman's arms was a wriggling baby. He was crying his eyes out. "Calm him down, Daenerys," the man said. "The lad can't be wailing at the ceremony."

Eyebrow raised at the name, Bran turned to the Raven. "Daenerys?" He looked at the harried young wife. She did have a distinctly Valyrian look about her. The Raven only crossed his arms, watching the scene wryly.

"If you weren't always so tardy, you wouldn't have had to rush us to your sister's wedding, Marden," 'Daenerys' stated. Glancing down at the baby, she cooed. "Relax little Brandon. Calm down, my little lad." Eventually, she coaxed him to a serene sleep. Bran was only further confused.

All the inhabitants of the hamlet on which Winterfell would eventually stand were gathered by a weirwood tree. The same weirwood tree that Bran so fondly remembered. "A wedding?" Not present at either of Jon's ceremonies, or that of Sansa's ill-fated marriage to Ramsay Bolton, he nevertheless knew what a ceremony in the shadow of the Old Gods looked like.

"Hurry! Hurry to the front!" beckoned 'Daenerys' to Marden, the young man racing to the front where his sister stood. Clearly a wild Northern beauty, the girl stood in the company of a well-dressed man… with silver hair. Bran had seen him before. Seen him in the .visions of the past. "The Lord of Light." He wouldn't forget the face of the man, wracked with grief as he thrust his sword into his wife. "They look so happy here."

"It was before the Long Night, young Stark." The Raven was solemn. "Before the great sorrow it brought upon this land."

The bride was not amused at her brother. "Why? Why do you have to be late for today?" The groom only laughed as Marden shrugged and cocked a grin. The bride rolled her eyes.

"If my sister could forgive you for being tardy on your wedding, I'll take this with good humor," stated the groom. Bran's eyes widened. 'He's Valyrian too?' The silver hair should have given it off, but somehow he didn't make the connection…

Beginning the ceremony, Marden soon put his tardiness on the backburner. "And who comes before the Gods this day?"

"I," stated the woman, loud and true. "Serena of House Stark, do come before the Gods to be wed."

"House Stark…" It began to click in Bran's mind. "If she's a Stark, and her brother is Marden Stark… the baby is Bran the Builder!" The famous figure, near legend. It was surreal to see him only a babe in his mother's arms.

In his thoughts, Bran didn't hear Marden Stark until he was halfway through another rote. "...to wed her in the sight of the Gods?"

"I," began the groom, love in his eyes for the wild Northern woman. "Soryn of House Targaryen, take her to wed."

Watching the rest of the ceremony in a surreal fog, the revelations pounded themselves into Bran's psyche. Unlocking the long dead truth out of a time long passed into legend. Soryn Targaryen, Azor Ahai, Marden Stark, Serena Stark, Bran the Builder, Daenerys Targaryen… all intertwined in the small settlement that would one day be Winterfell - before the Long Night even begun.

"It is time to go," announced the Raven.

Above them, a bat-like shape soared high in the sky. Bran could just pick up a booming roar as the scene disappeared into a black haze...

Eyes flipping open in the familiar refrain, Bran took a moment to adjust to reality. When coherence returned, he turned to the tree. "My ancestors… my long-lived namesake…" He had absolutely no idea that any Valyrian, let alone House Targaryen, ever ventured into the land of the First Men.

The wrinkled face regarded Bran with amusement, seeming to find his confusion the most interesting thing he had seen with his own eyes in centuries. "Your families are intertwined far more than meets the eye, young Stark. It is only through understanding this shared history that the events of the future can be guarded against." Before Bran could ask another question, white lids clouded his eyes as he withdrew into the other realm.

"Creates more questions than he answers," Bran muttered, curling against his bed of furs to catch some shuteye.

Shooting to their feet at the flash of silver hair, the assembled Imperial small council knew it was going to be a tense discussion at the look on the Empress' face. Frowning, eyes burning with silent fury, Daenerys was not in the mood to deal with excuses or bullshit at the present time. Taking her seat with nary a word, Missandei and Grey Worm behind her, the assembled advisors and generals followed with guarded expressions.

Slowly eying everyone in the room, satisfaction filling her as they squirmed in their seats, Dany began the meeting. "Where is Ser Davos?" Robb was still recovering and Jon and Sansa were away, but the Hand of the Emperor was still part of the small council.

"With the children, your Highness," replied Margaery Tyrell in a soft voice. "They normally play with Robb or Arya, but he needs his rest and she's… indisposed. Davos kindly offered to watch them."

Accepting that as a reasonable excuse, Dany continued. "I have read all the dispatches and reconnaissance reports," she stated. "So there's no sense in anyone trying to patronize me with rose colored glasses."

There was silence. "Your Highness," Tyrion finally piped. "May I be blunt?"

"I would be most displeased if you weren't, Lord Hand."

"Alright then." Downing a swig of wine from a jeweled cup, Tyrion slammed it down with a resounding clatter. "Truth is, we are in deep shit."

"It is not as dire as you make it out to be," stated Varys, calm and collected as always.

A snort left General Theodosius Caryn's lips. "You are wrong, my bald friend. It is exactly as dire as the Lannister dwarf makes it out to be." He sent a withering death glare Tyrion's way. "What he fails to inform us all," Caryn spat, "Is that it was his own fucking strategy that got us into this fucking mess!"

"Don't you think I know that, dear Caryn?" came the syrupy sweet reply. "Turns out, my father was most clever in hiding the fact that the gold of the Westerlands is no more."

"I highly doubt you didn't know about it, Lord Hand," accused Edmure Tully. He was less vicious towards Tyrion than Caryn, but not by much. "You are the only one of his children worth Tywin's bootlace in terms of cunning."

Tyrion clutched his heart. "While I do appreciate the compliment, the simple fact that my father hates my fucking guts does present a problem to your theory."

"While this type dick measuring shit is good on the jousting field or by a flock of peacocks, perhaps you cunts should consider solving the problem rather than placing blame?" Arms crossed and feet perched on the table, Tyene Martell cut straight through the maze. "There's still a fucking army and still a fucking monarch. Two monarchs once the Emperor returns victorious."

"We must go on the offensive at once with everything we have!" Caryn was adamant, out of his seat and pounding on the table. "Tywin expects us to go after Harrenhal, but if we feint to King's Landing, we make him think he's rushing to defend it when in reality it's his army that's the target!"

Rolling her eyes, Olenna Tyrell tapped her cane on the floor. "With what forces? Tywin outnumbers us, and we only have one dragon."

"Incorrect, we have four dragons."

This caught Dany's notice. "Excuse me, General Caryn? It seems as if you count the Emperor's three hatchlings - my children - as fodder to use in battle?" Her tone was low… dangerous. A soft whimpering beside her drew Daenerys' attention - and providing Caryn a reprieve. Ghost, his sweet look belying a massive bulk, nuzzled at her hand. Dany calmed, gently ruffling his fur before looking back at the small council. "Well?"

Adjusting his collar, suddenly nervous for the first time, Caryn cleared his throat. "Your… three young dragons performed admirably in the rescue of Lord Edmure and the Unsullied. They are larger than Balerion was when he secured the subjugation of Astapor years ago."

"Both battles had unprepared enemy," Grey Worm stated, talking for the first time. "Young dragons against prepared enemy creates slaughter."

"I will not risk them until they are larger and properly trained for combat," Daenerys added. "My children will not be allowed into combat before they are ready, nor until their father returns from Essos."

Shifting in his seat, Varys decided to interject. "Your Highness, while I think General Caryn is a bit too eager for decisive action, I must make a point. My little birds tell me that Brandon Stark has returned to Westeros with the dragon Edderon." The Empress did not reply. "If you do desire some sort of attack, wouldn't two fully grown dragons give you an advantage over Tywin?"

"That would be sufficient…" mused Margaery, glancing at her soon to be sister.

"Yes, Edderon is here. However, there is a problem." Looking back at Grey Worm, the officer handed her a dispatch he had been holding for her. Handing it herself to Margaery - the closest person to her - Daenerys waited patiently for it to be passed around to all of them. "I presume you all understand the meaning of this."

A sigh left Tyrion. "I know you are considering going to the Wall to rescue Brandon Stark… but please don't, your Highness."

"He is my brother by marriage. Why shouldn't I?"

"Risking your life to the Night King? Please don't do it, sister," begged Margaery.

"There's no need to invoke superstition to make our case, Lady Tyrell," Tyrion countered. "Sending her on a wild goose chase in the North while leaving her army leaderless is a problem enough."

The Rose of Highgarden glared at the Imp. "It is not superstition, it is fact."

"To be honest, I find it hard to believe," stated Tyene Martell. The discussion went downhill from there, mixed into a chaotic flurry of arguments for and against the existence of the Army of the Dead.

It caused Dany's head to ache. "Enough!" The room fell silent. "Leave me!" Looking too each other, the councillors began to shuffle out, leaving the Empress to an empty room - only her and Ghost. The white direwolf had been scarcer than usual, spending most of his time with either the twins or with Nymeria, who had been sluggish since Arya had left. It worried Dany, one of the things anyway. Hand stroking the fine white fur, she sighed. "Oh, Ghost. When will Jon come back to us. I need him with me." The direwolf simply whined.

Blizzard swirling upon Riverrun in the dark early nightfall, a sentry huddling by a warm brazier heard the side door he had been guarding swing open. He immediately grabbed at the hilt of his sword. Warm fingers latched onto cold leather, causing him to wince. But the hooded figure sliding in from the bracing cold demanded all his attention.

"Halt," the sentry demanded, sword raising. "In the name of the Targaryen Empire." When the intruder pulled back his hood, exposing his face, the sentry found himself gaping. "Your Majesty…" The sword dropped, revealing the Emperor Jon himself.

Grateful for the swirling winds masking Rhaegal's descent into the Riverlands, Jon motioned for the sentry to huddle by the brazier. "What is your name, son?"

"Edd… Eddy Rivers… your Majesty," stuttered the soldier. The closest he had came to royalty was when the gorgeous Lady Sansa Stark passed by him when he was on duty in the courtyard months back. But here was the Emperor… at his station!

Jon patted the lowly soldier's shoulder. A bastard, just as he thought he had been for the majority of his life. "You're doing a good job, soldier. Just keep your sword closer to you - harder for an enemy to bat away." Eddy Rivers nodded. "Oh, and keep this to ourselves. I don't want anyone to know I'm here yet, understood?" He put his finger to his lips.

Nodding once more, the sentry mimed his mouth being shut. And like that, the Emperor slipped into the depths of the castle.

At this late hour, harsh winds chilling the castle to sub-zero in many places, the halls were deserted. Jon was glad for that - tired and exhausted from the long flight, the various formalities of a returning monarch did not appeal to him. All he wanted was to find Daenerys, sweep her into his arms, and fuck her till they passed out from exhaustion. He could almost feel her naked body pressed against him.

Fate, however, had a way of crapping all over best laid plans. "Poppa!" Before he could properly turn, two bundles slammed into his side.

While intent on finding Daenerys, Jon wasn't cold-hearted. The sight of his children after so long warmed his heart more than even dragonfire. He kneeled and hugged them tightly, kissing the crowns of their heads. "Sweetlings." Pulling back, he looked them both over. "Gods, you've grown like weeds."

"I'm so happy you're back." Arya, tears in her eyes, burrowed her cheek in the plush fur of his cloak. "Missed you, poppa."

"Well, well. Yer took your sweet time getting back, sire." Looking up, Jon saw Davos, a small grin on his face. "Her Highness was gettin' worried."

The thought of Dany worrying over him pained Jon. "Was dealing with a Kraken problem, Davos." The old sea dog nodded, understanding.

"Come with us, poppa," Rhaegar urged. "I practiced my stances." The young Crown Prince began tugging his father's arm, pulling him towards the nursery.

Noticing the Emperor's torn expression, Davos quickly put two and two together. "Young ones, his Majesty is tired. I promise he'll have plenty of time for you two tomorrow."

Twin pairs of eyes - one grey, one violet - trained themselves on Jon. He bit back a chuckle, them being so adorable. "I promise." Smiling tiredly, the twins allowed Ser Davos to guide them back to their rooms. "Thank you," he whispered to his Lord Hand.

Davos winked. "Don't mention it, just try not to be too loud." Watching his monarch turn the corner, Davos chuckled to himself. "Oh to be young again." Jon was the ruler of a great Empire, but he was still a lad - a lad who deserved more than his duty would allow.

"Ser Davos." He looked down to see young Arya tugging his hand. "Why is poppa in a hurry?"

"He wants to see your mother, Princess," came the reply.

"To protect her from her nightmares?"

"Nightmares?"

Little Arya looked at him with wide, innocent eyes "When they are together, momma screams all night." She was confused when Davos only laughed in response.

"You are too tense, your Grace," Missandei stated, slipping the nightgown over Daenerys' head. It soon fell to cover her nude form. Not much protection from the cold, but that was what the thick furs and goose down blankets were for.

Rolling her eyes, Daenerys snorted. "What gave you that idea?" she bit, dripping with sarcasm. Finding the quiet look but firm set of her handmaiden's jaw, the Targaryen Empress sighed. "Forgive me, Missandei. Perhaps the tension is getting to me."

The translator allowed the slight to vanish. She knew what Dany was going through, having gone through it herself when Grey Worm was trapped at Casterly Rock. "His Majesty will return," she offered comfortingly.

"But he hasn't yet." From his last raven, he should have returned by now. It was beginning to eat away at Daenerys just as further crises were piling up.

"He will." Missandei buried her fears, needing to be strong for her Empress and friend. "I know he will." Squeezing Daenerys' hand for support, she quietly made her exit. Seeing the Empress' condition made her appreciate having Grey Worm in her bed more and more.

Alone in her chambers - without even the children or Ghost and Nymeria for company - Daenerys headed to bed. Feet gliding on the tiled floor, she silently pulled back the thick covers and eased herself into the warm cocoon. However, sleep did not come. She tossed and turned, mind restless and deep in thought. Dany had a duty to her realm, as Tyrion had said, but her family and adopted House battled that in conflict. If what Jon and Robb and Margaery had said was true, then Bran was in grave danger… Edderon was in grave danger. Losing both a greenseer and a dragon would be disastrous…

But if both Jon and her were gone from direct command and Tywin decided to move from his base at Harrenhal… it could result in disaster. Daenerys clutched at her pillow, shutting her eyes tight and trying to pretend it was Jon - such was too far a leap. She ached for her dragonwolf, felt the perpetual fire within her dim to near extinction without him close to her. It filled her with dread, not having him here. Not knowing why he hadn't returned.

'What if something happened to him?' Honestly, she didn't know if she could bear the thought. Their family needed him. She needed him.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Groaning into her pillow, Daenerys swung her legs off the bed and rose, smoothing out her nightgown. "Seven hells, Tyrion…" she muttered. The Empress realized that he was distraught over her attention on Bran's disappearance, but couldn't any further attempts to sway her judgement be saved for the morning? Exasperation and annoyance written on her face, Dany threw open to door… only for her irritation to melt into shock.

There was her husband, hand poised to knock again. 'Jon?' She was too stunned to even say his name aloud.

Jon was struck speechless as well, gazing upon his wife after so many months. After braving riots, battles, and the deep blue sea. She looked even more beautiful than he remembered. Having wondered whether to remove his black coat, boots, and battle cuirass, seeing her again reminded him that wasting no time was the right call.

The seconds ticked by, both staring at the other - wondering if it was only a dream. Suddenly, something snapped. It wasn't clear who made the first move, but in an instant the two monarchs found their lips colliding in a passionate kiss.

Pushing his wife away from the entrance, Jon blindly kicked at the door until it shut with a loud crack. He refused to break the kiss, tongue dueling with hers in a battle he ended up winning. One a hand tangled into silky silver locks while the other trailed down her body. Fingertips danced on soft skin, touches and gropes coaxing delicious moans out of the sensual woman before him.

Daenerys sighed into Jon's kiss, letting him push her towards the bed. She gripped the edges of his cloak, shoving the black fur off his shoulders. Fingers - her skin tingling pleasurably from his touches - reached behind to work at the straps of his cuirass while he plundered her mouth. While she let him. As Dany twisted off the last strap, she gasped as Jon shoved her onto the bed, grey eyes dark and stormy with lust.

The two of them stared at each other, Jon eying her as a predator would prey while Dany bit her lip, shifting uncomfortably as wetness pooled between her legs. When the Emperor began to doff his clothes, she saw the new scars on his chest - became aware of the bruises dotting his face and shoulders. It concerned Daenerys greatly, but her lust at his now naked form won out. 'He is alive,' she kept whispering to herself. Pulling off her nightgown till she was bare to his gaze and touch, Dany would reassure her fear and desire by enjoying him. All of him.

Jon crawled atop her, fire in his belly as their lips reconnected. Despite the passion, it was slow and sweet. "I love you," he breathed, moving his lips to her neck. The first words he had spoken to her in a long while.

Trembling, Dany closed her eyes as his lips and tongue worked against her hot skin. "I love you too…" She gasped again, Jon latching onto a nipple. Her fingers gripped his curls, pulling him harder against her breasts. "Don't make me wait, Jon."

Grinning against her nipple, Jon knew he was going to oblige her. After so long he couldn't stop himself from ravishing her completely. As such, he pulled himself back up her body with several red love bites left dotting her neck and chest. Jon gazed into the dark amethyst of her eyes with rapture. Leaning down to kiss them gently, he felt her hand wrap frantically around his length and line it up with her slit. Just one jerk of his hips…

Muffled by his mouth, Dany screamed in pleasure as he finally pushed inside her. Gods, she missed this. Her fingers dug into his back, no care in the world if she added to her husband's collection of scars - not that he'd mind this variety. She rippled around him, his hardness spearing forward with the same power that wielded Longclaw on the field of battle. Stars exploded behind her eyes. Jon was taking her fast and deep, tongue subjugating her mouth, and Daenerys loved it.

Unable to speak from the vice grip she had on his length, Jon growled into her mouth as he continued. Every tightening of her velvet walls, every swipe of her tongue against his, every pained prick of her nails on his back made him continue even harder. Exerting the stress and rage from the campaign in Essos on his wife. Part of him worried that he was hurting her - then the writhing and soft pants from their melded lips like a wanton whore reminded him that she was enjoying every minute.

Soon, they pulled back, gasping for air. Jon collapsed in the crook of Dany's neck, fucking her even harder. Nails raking his rippling shoulder muscles without any care left, little coherent thought was left to Dany. "Gaahhh… fuuuu…" Charging towards the edge, words died unfinished on her lips.

Jon was close, he could feel an explosion building that dwarfed the largest cannon. "My home," he groaned against her neck. Wherever she was… he was home. "My home… fuck… my home…" His world detonated from his climax.

Dany was not long following him. Scream bubbling from within her throat as his fluids coated her walls, she bit down hard on his shoulder. His flesh absorbed her ear splitting scream, eyelids fluttering from the complete orgasmic bliss her husband gave her. Frantic pumps from Jon - erratic but utterly brutal - drove her utterly insane. Unable to hold back she tilted her head back and screamed, likely echoing throughout the great citadel with the truth of the Imperial pair's marital compatibility.

Over half a minute later, they had collapsed. Jon had flipped them, holding his panting, trembling wife in a crushing embrace. Dany sucked in air through her nose, lazilly soothing the shoulder bite with her tongue. "A welcome homecoming… for an Emperor," he gasped out, chuckling as best he could.

Smiling down at him, Dany felt tears glisten in her eyes. "You deserve it, husband. The returning conqueror." Kissing him on the lips, she rested her head on his chest - listening to his beating heart. "Mmmmm, I missed this. I missed you."

Jon gently stroked her back, nuzzling the crown of her head. "I missed all of you." He smiled at her.

Daenerys could lose herself in his smiles. "I thought something had happened to you." Dany raised her head, looking at him intently. At his new scars and bruises. "Something did happen, didn't it?"

Rubbing her sides tenderly, Jon eased her down till she was curled into his side, head on his chest. He pulled the covers up until they were draped over their bodies. He smiled when she purred and snuggled into him. "It's a long story, but in short I ran into Euron Greyjoy. This..." He gestured to his bruised forehead. "Was his doing."

Limp from their earlier reunion tryst, Daenerys tensed. And not in the good way. "Please tell me that he met his proper fate." Her voice was the cross between the Dragon Queen and the… well, dragon.

He pulled her closer to him. "Head from body."

That seemed to mollify her. "Good." Anger changed to satisfaction… and satisfaction to playfulness, Dany leaned into his neck and ran her tongue down the salty skin. She reveled in his groan. "You will tell me the rest tomorrow. For now, I think the Emperor deserves more of a welcoming from his loyal dragon."

Jon groaned once more as he felt Dany slip further underneath the covers. "Ah," he breathed, feeling a warm, wet tongue lick up his length. "The Emperor does."

Though exhausted, the Imperial couple wouldn't get much sleep that night.